Only Fitting
by hyliansage
Summary: [oneshot] How does the murderer become the victim? How does the victim become the murderer? There is no wrong, no right, only what is fitting, and what isn't. Based on MatthewJaffar A.


I'd like to start this off by saying... I'm trying a "different" style for this fic, and I'd like some feedback because I might choose to use something like this in the future... so... review, pretty please? It would be a huge help! XD And the longer the better. :D I really shouldn't be complaining though, any review, no matter how short, makes me very very happy. :nods:

But yeah... I'm going for a more "poetic" style in this, with repeated words and what not. Some irony... OK... a good amount of irony if you can catch it. And maybe even some "symbolism!" XD Though... my symbolism rather :cough: sucks :cough: Oh, and a good amount of short sentences and fragments, though there ARE some longer ones in there that seem like run-ons thanks to the large amount of commas I stick into them. :D Anyway, the point of that was to say... please don't point out the fact that I have a lot of fragments. It's intentional. XD :sigh: With all this complaining that I'm doing, I'm gonna get even less reviews now, aren't I? T-T

Well... this certainly is a short one-shot... I thought that it would be longer... It's still longer than a good amount of the stories on the first page though! XD Thanks to TheOneAndOnlyT for inspiration!

Right. This ficcy's centered around the Matthew+Jaffar A support. It's really different from TheOneAndOnlyT's version, so I apologize to anyone who liked his better... :cough: His IS better anyway. :cough: Umm... I really really hope that I got Matthew's personality down, despite the crazed insaneness that he displays. :nods: And I suppose that I apologize for the shortness as well... There's only so much you can pack into a conversation where a good amount of it is "..."! XD I guess this could also be a sort of a prequel to Wish too. :D

I've interpreted Matthew's character as having been "accepted" into House Ostia at a young age, as a sort of apprentice there. Again, I apologize if you thought differently, but please just take my interpretation for the duration of the fic. :)

Also, this fic takes place in Ostia, when Matthew and company (Fine. ELIWOOD and company.) return there after getting the Durandal. :nods:

And I promise that I WILL get to work on my other fics... someday... :twitch:

Oh! And remember that this entire ficcy is in Matthew's POV!

So now... without further ado... the fic!

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Disclaimer: Don't own Fire Emblem. Wouldn't mind owning certain characters though. XD 

Only Fitting (One-shot)

It ends tonight.

The little green-haired girl is gone. She is no longer by his side; I have made sure of it.

He is alone. There will be no distractions, no obstructions. Nothing will stop me... Nothing.

I wait, crouched in the shadows, by the door, the door he will return to, the door he must return to, in order to wait for her. He is in my territory now, under my control. These halls where I grew up, these halls where I played, these halls where I trained, these halls where I met... _her_. These halls are the ones I am most familiar with, the ones that he will soon learn to fear the most. But his fear will not last long. For it is only fitting that it'll all end here, here, where it all began.

Footsteps. Soft footsteps. Silent to all, even the most talented listeners. But they ring in my ears, loud and clear, resonating, vibrating. And soon... they will be silent.

Forever.

I move from the shadows and lean against the wall. Half in darkness, half in light. The moon is full and round tonight; its light is pouring, cascading through the window above me. It makes for bad spy work, but _she_ always loved it this way. This way, with the moon bright and clear, the stars shining above, singing their songs of peace and hope. Peace and hope... It is only fitting that it should be this way tonight.

The footsteps stop. There is no sound, save the sweet sound of silence. I do not look up; there is no point in doing so. He stands in the shadows, framed by the shadows, shielded by the shadows. It is only fitting for him.

Silence reigns. He does not move, but I can feel his eyes piercing through the darkness, burning at my face, searching, searching for what they cannot find.

I smirk. It ends tonight.

"Hey, Jaffar," I begin.

He does not speak. My grin grows wider and I continue, louder, loud enough for him to catch every word, but not loud enough for anyone else to hear.

"What was it... Nino? Was that the girl's name?"

I have touched a nerve. He lunges toward me, moving into the light, his black clothes shimmering. He grabs me by my cloak, jerks me forward. I stare into his face, grinning, grinning maliciously, gleefully.

"That's right. My friends already have her restrained," I say, barely a whisper, a cruel whisper. I see the hatred in his eyes, and my own hatred, in turn, burns stronger in my own eyes. "You make a move," I murmur, "and the girl dies."

I see a sudden flash of emotion in his eyes, an emotion that I've seen so many times before. It is fear, sweet fear. My satisfaction rises.

"Does the Angel of Death fear death? How ironic," I breathe, my words dripping with unsaid sarcasm. He does not answer, and the emotion, the fear, is gone. My hatred only runs deeper, for I want him to fear, to worry, to cringe in terror.

He does not speak, but he loosens his grip. I seize my cloak out of his grasp, his dirty murderer's grasp, and I grab him by his cloak, pull him toward me. Closer, closer, so that my revenge may be sweeter, sweeter, as I plunge my dagger ever deeper, deeper, into his heart.

I stare into his eyes, the eyes of a murderer. I smile, a cruel smile. I envision the suffering I will make him go through. The physical torture. The mental torture. Everything that I can imagine, everything that I can think of, I will force upon him. He is in my grasps now, and there is no way out. I feel no mercy, only hatred, hatred that burns stronger, stronger with every moment that passes, hatred that runs deeper, deeper, with every second that lapses.

But he deserves it. It is only fitting for a murderer like him.

"Yes, it's dishonorable," I continue, ignoring his gaze. "But you know nothing of honor, do you?"

He does not answer, and I laugh, a short, biting laugh.

"Don't move, Jaffar. If you hold still, Nino won't be harmed." I smirk at him, my eyes narrowed, and I whisper, grinning, "I promise."

He does not speak, and my hate for him deepens. How dare he try to be brave? He... this craven murderer... He does not deserve to be remembered as a hero! He deserves only death, cruel, sweet death. I will give him what he deserves, but not before he _screams_! Screams in agony, screams in terror! I will make him suffer; I will make him pay! Pay! For every hair on her head, I will make him pay the equal value in time! He will not beg for mercy! He will beg for death!

"... I understand," he says, suddenly.

I am surprised, but I do not show it. "So the Angel of Death isn't mute after all." I laugh. "You've got nerve, I'll say that."

He does not struggle, does not twitch in my grasp. He's making this easy. Too easy. But it doesn't matter.

He is framed in light; I am hidden in darkness. I smile with delight, a merciless delight, and raise my dagger, the dagger I have been sharpening, sharpening just for him. I raise it higher. Higher, higher, higher! He looks at me, his eyes blank. There is no emotion now, but I no longer care. Glee courses through my veins, through my entire body, side by side with hatred, entwined as one, inseparable. My heart beats faster. Faster, faster, faster!

"Leila..." I whisper to the cold night air. "Can you see me? I'm going to put an end to this right now."

I shut my eyes for a moment. He will not try to escape; he will not dare to escape. It ends tonight! It all ends tonight. I grin; I smirk, opening my eyes. I stare at this face, this emotionless face, this murderer's face. My hand twitches, shakes. It wants to plunge this dagger into this murderer's heart, to drink this murderer's blood, to end this murderer's life! Forever.

But it can't.

My dagger drops to the ground. It clatters, the sound of metal striking rock. The sound rings in my ears, deafens me. My heart is pounding, pounding, pounding; my mind is racing, racing, racing! No. No, no, no! "_It can't be; it CAN'T be!_" I scream to myself, silently, noiselessly.

But it is.

The Angel of Death no longer kneels before me. The murderer is gone. I see _her_ face, _her_ eyes. They are defiant, strong. They are fierce, confident. They are frightened, weak. But it is not death they fear. It is something else... something more. Something that I know, something that I should know.

But before I can answer, but before I can speak, she fades away, and the murderer returns. He is bathed in light; I am engulfed in darkness.

He is no longer the murderer.

I am.

I release my grip, fall on my knees. My breath is ragged, shallow. A crushing weight pounds upon my chest, relentlessly, endlessly. My hands are numb; my head is heavy. I am hidden in the darkness.

"Leila..." I hear myself say. "Is this... right? Is this... what you want?"

He stands up, brushes the dust off his clothes. I can feel his eyes on me, but I do not look up; I cannot look up. Silence prevails.

"Why?" he asks finally, more a statement than a question.

I do not answer, but he waits, waits, his eyes burning into my skin.

"Lord Eliwood... he told me," I murmur, unknowingly, unconsciously. "You have no will of your own. You only acted on Nergal's orders. He said..."

I break off, my voice weak, feeble, but I still continue, continue with all the strength left in me. "He said that the one who really killed Leila was... Nergal."

He merely stares at me, unspeaking, and I persist, my voice quavering, shaking. I see only the ground. The cold, hard ground.

"That... that doesn't matter to me. You were Leila's enemy. That will never change. Yet... the moment I was about to kill you... Leila... She stopped me."

He does not answer, but I do not care. The words... the words pour out of my mouth, like a stream, like a river, like a mighty river coursing to the sea!

"All I could think of was how to bring you down! If I could do that, I would... be able to mourn Leila... That's what I believed..."

I stop, pause for a moment, the tears welling up in my eyes. But I blink them away. I can not cry; I _will_ not cry. I will show no weakness, no weakness, not in front of him. He says not a word, not a single word, but he continues to stare at me, staring, unblinking, thinking of something more.

"Go..." I tell him, at last. I want to be alone. "The girl's safe. I never touched her."

It is the answer he has been waiting for. At this, he turns his eyes off me, finally walks away, leaving me in the shadows, in the darkness, to suffer. To suffer, just as I had wanted him to suffer. But he stops; he stops and does not turn.

"Matthew. Is that your name?"

I look up at him. "What?" I finally manage to squeak out, my voice raspy.

"That woman... There was a name clinging to her final breath." He pauses, and it is my turn to stare at him, unblinking. "She said, 'Matthew.'"

My heart is pounding, pounding, pounding; my mind is racing, racing, racing.

"R-Really?"

But he does not answer and steps away, back into the shadows, until the darkness swallows him whole. It is only fitting.

But I remain, on my knees, kneeling in the darkness. The moonlight is fading; it is almost dawn. A single tear makes its way down my face, landing, landing on the cold, hard ground.

"Leila," I whisper. "Thank you. Perhaps someday... I'll return the favor."

Sunlight breaks through the window, showering upon me, cascading over me. I feel warm, bathed in the early sun. It washes over my entire body; shining on my fallen dagger. My hatred still burns, deep and fierce, hatred which will never fade. But I smile, a true smile, the first in many a night. I now kneel in the light, the warm sunlight. The darkness is disappearing around me, dissipating. Slowly, ever so slowly, I stand, reveling in the cheer of the new day. I suppose... that that is only fitting as well.

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A/N: Well... what do you think? Please review! I really want a bit of feedback for this strange "new" style... If it could even be called a "new" style. T-T 


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